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THE PASSIONS: 



A POEM, 



PRONOUNCED AT THE ODEON. 



DECEMBER 28, 1836, 



ON- OCCASION OF THE ANNIVERSARY 



y 



BIRTH OF SPURZHEIM. 



BY GRENYILLE MELLEN 




5 BOSTON: 
MARSH, CAPEN & LYON 
18 3 6. 



H^, 



^-iT^ 






Published at the request of the Boston Phrenological Society. 



Printed by William A.Hall & Co. 



POEM. 



I. 

There is a sound of music in our ears — 
The organ's anthem peal, and solemn roar 
Of the great melodies that stir our tears, 
And the heart's fountains, as around they pour ! 
There are far voices, of an eloquence 
That cannot be resisted — from the deep 
Of Memory — like hands which beckon hence, 
From the untravel'd realm of wizzard sleep. 
When dreams put on their mystery of power, 
And the stern Past returns, to sway the midnight hour. 

II. 

The Past — and yet the Present ! — it is here, 
As in the magic of the scene again — 
In colors, lo ! the buried years appear. 
Of hues that cannot deepen, nor yet wane. 
The Past — and yet the Present ! O, if we 
Could trace the Future as the ages gone. 
And gird our spirits for Eternity, 
As we should gird them for that golden dawn, 
What an exalting heritage were given 
This Mortal — from Mortality — from dust, to Heaven ! 



ill 

And what, amid these sounds and sympathies, 
Hath call'd us here, like pilgrims to the shrine, 
Liiik'd with some memory that never dies, 
Once fashion'd of the earth — but now divine ? 
Is it some tribute to the mighty dead. 
Who fell amid the trumpets, and the clang 
That peal'd above the gore of Glory's bed, 
Where, with her earthquake voice, red Victory san| 
Is it in tribute to the Conqueror, 
That we come up, with gratitude and garlands, here ? 



IV. 

Or is our recollection centering now 
Upon some mighty master of his land. 
Who crush'd Pride's gilded signet o'er a brow 
Flush'd with the broad ambition of command - 
Or are we gathering to the flowery tomtj 
Of Eloquence and Genius, that have gone 
To tread the weary darkness of their doom. 
While yet amid the beauty of their morn ? — 
Ah! Ruler — Bard — nor Warrior is blent 
In the still melancholy of our stern lament ! 



V. 



Why do we gather here ? 
' Tis not to bind the laurel bough 

On victor's flashing brow ! 
' Tis not to twine a fadeless wreath 
Round temples that repose beneath, 
Of one, whose warrior-sun went down 
Flush'd with the lurid halo of renown — 

Of soldier port and look on high, 
As he were questioning the clouds and sky ! 



VI. 



We do not now come up. 
With the loud trumpet and the golden cup, 

To lave the brow of Song. 
No garlands for the bard are wove 
In sacred mount or consecrated grove — 

To him the finer wreaths, 

Through which the fairy breathes. 
Enchanting and enchanted, all belong ! 



vn. 

Why do we gather here ? 
And come we with the voice of wail — 
And bended brow, and gUttering tear. 

And hps and faces pale, 

About some solemn bier — 
To gaze upon the marble head, 

Laid in its rayless bed, 
And in the sobbing music of lament, 
Pour forth deep sympathy with sorrow blent, 

Over the chisel'd dead ? 



VIII. 

We gather round the grave 
Of the Mind's brave — 
' Tis to that better glory that we bow ! 
That glory that can trace no birth 
To mount or valley of the earth. 
But onward — up — and far — 
Beyond the pathway of the dimmest star, 
Where the white angel stoops — with shadow'd brow ! 
We bow to that immortal part, 
Once touch'd with fire, 
From whose great revelations worlds will start, 
When lifting thoughts their harmonies inspire ! 



IX. 



We gather to the Sepulchre of Mind — 
' Tis o'er the great in spirit that we bend — 
No cypress to our temples do we bind, 
No funeral pageantries our steps attend ; 
We come not to Mortality — and earth — 
To make an earthly testament of tears — 
■ But as to something of a loftier birth, 
Alike beyond the touch or stain of years ; 
To the Immortal — that, unfetter'd here, 
Breaks to the skies away — its own unbounded sphere ! 



X. 



The Great and Good — and as we yield to him 
The silent tribute of our reverence, 
As to some power of kingly port, but dim. 
That to a land of shadows signs us hence. 
Be ours that quiet sorrow which the heart, 
Though touch'd, yet ne'er disconsolate, endures, 
When " Grief" seems strangely of our " Joy " a part, 
And the same Sadness warns us and assures — 
Be there no mourning with our memory, 
Save that, which softens as it fills, but lights the eye. 



8 



XL 



Here, then, with bended, but unshadow'd brow, 
Full of that ministration of the soul 
Which spirit yields to spirit, do we bow 
About its altar-place ; the golden goal. 
For which he panted to a tireless tread, 
Breaks bright upon our vision — and we see 
That land beyond the Yalley of the Dead, 
That to the pure must aye unclouded be — 
And where, with Faith, the marvel of his day, 
He pointed to high triumph on — and led the way. 



xn. 



A faith that woke the nations like a speU — 
And on the spirit of inquiring Man, 
With power like an illumination, fell, 
Recalling his lost Nature from the ban 
Of darkness of past time. A science, yet, 
Though banner'd by a dim philosophy, 
That would not Mortal should a God forget. 
Nor scorn that language written in the sky. 
Which tells him, though of matter doom'd to earth, 
He flashes with Intelligence of Angel birth ! 



9 



Xllf. 

Boundless Intelligence ! — undying Mind ! 
How strange that Birth ! — how vast its History I 
O, could we leave the investiture behind, 
That girds us ever till we seek that sky. 
And upward make this journey of the earth, 
With the free footstep unallied to clay. 
As Man erst did, ere shadow on his mirth, 
Or clouds and darkness fell upon his day, 
How happy were our pathway to that land, 
Where the pure-hearted wander — an unfading band ! 



XIV. 



Spirit of Man ! Mysterious habitant ! 
Well would we trace the story of thy power — 
Well would that sympathy within us pant 
To follow from the glory of thy bower, 
The Eden where thy lustre cloudless shone, 
To the world's wilderness — the weary way. 
Where the twain tenants of that bower, alone, 
Led by a voice they dar'd not but obey, 
Wander'd, till, mingled with Mortality, 
They sunk beneath the ringing sentence — Thou shalt die ! 
2 



10 



XV. 



They pass'd into the World — and as they went, 
Still musing on the shapes of coming years, 
With step uncertain, and with faces bent 
On the sad ground they water 'd with their tears. 
New thoughts within their brooding spirits rose. 
With a strange mastery unfelt before ; 
As when on opening ears faint music flows, 
Or light's first beams on cloudless eyeballs pour — 
Spirits of Life or Darkness, that began. 
As Eden clos'd its gates, their empirage on Man. 



XVI. 

It was the bondage of their Destiny 
To wander and to suffer — to abide. 
Unmurmuring, the fate they could not fly, 
The holy vengeance they had both defied ; 
Yet Life should be but Trial — and reward 
Should crown the struggling years, so Virtue led 
To Heaven the heart its majesty had awed. 
And lighted through the ordeal of the dead — 
Hope in her angel robes still beckon'd hence, 
And pointed to a home of nobler recompense ! 



11 



XVII. 

Thus Justice crown'd the Judgment. As he went 
To people the broad land — a wanderer — 
Faith bore him upward to the firmament. 
And rest and radiance he saw written there ! 
The stars seem'd all his heritage, and Heaven, 
A better Paradise than Earth's, was bow'd 
To his uplifted eye, as promise given 
This weary mortal to immortal vow'd — 
The conflict had begun — and with his bride, 
Man to the world went forth — unbow'd, tho' not untried. 



XVIII. 

And what, since first with joyaunce and amaze, 
His vision rang'd amid the Garden's flowers. 
Or fix'd with changeless and enraptur'd gaze 
On her who form'd the wonder of its bowers, 
Had flU'd his heaving heart with strange delight. 
And next his Maker claim'd his worship there ! 
By day his idol, and his dream by night. 
While his free spirit, yet untouch'd by care, 
Held ceaseless converse with that better sphere. 
Where angel faces bent, forever bright and near. 



12 



XIX. 

There, while they roam'd in Virtue unsubdued, 
Or at Life's living fountain knelt in joy, 
While every dewy flower to worship wooed, 
And won them to still new and blest employ — 
There nothing bode but Love. No pamper'd heart, 
Lur'd by the empty flatteries of earth, 
The victim of a false and worthless art. 
Forgotten all the light that crown'd its birth, 
Beat to the unhealthy music of a soul, 
To tone of madness stung by Earth's envenom'd bowl I 



XX. 



Nothing but Love ! — pure as the stainless sky, 
That hung above their garden, it did seem 
A presence of that Love that sways on high — 
Gladd'ning each thought, and hallowing every dream 
' Twas round them like the arching atmosphere, 
That girds this blue immensity, ere cloud 
Had travers'dits unsullied depths, and ere 
Storms curtain'd its horizon like a shroud — 
Love, beautiful as Nature — while her fount 
Flung its unmingled waters out, on vale and mount. 



13 



XXI. 

But when the Infinite, whose mighty hand 
Drew Earth from Chaos, flung awide the bars 
Of Eden's golden gate, with the command 
On man to pass its portals — when the stars 
Grew dim, as though a broad and bhghting breath 
• Had swept across their lustre, as the sound 
That bore creation's destiny of Death, 
Like clarion voice, from centre to its bound. 
Rung through the chambers of Eternity, 
Booming the sentence on, through all the hollow sky — 



XXII. 

Then, as if starting to another birth, 
Man to a stranger sovereignty awoke — 
That baser sovereignty of Time and Earth, 
While a new consciousness around him broke — 
He felt the new dominion as his days 
Brought other visions to his troubled heart, 
With power that should both master and amaze, 
Or arm'd with torture like the rankling dart — 
Bondage of stern creations ! struggling still 
To trample reason out, and triumph o'er the will ! 



14 



XXIII. 

And what are we, the children ! — how, on us 
Wait the strange spirits that encompass'd them 
With the alternate happiness and curse 
Of light to bless, or gloom to overwhelm ! 
Alas ! the varied legacy is ours 
To feel the doubtful doom of weal or woe, 
To find a beauty blending with our hours. 
Or our Life's waters darkling as they go — 
Creatures of earth, to all its Passions given. 
Our struggle is with Self — a soul how tried and riven ! 



XXIV. 

The Passions are our heritage. The tale 
Of Mirth or Madness that they vie to tell, 
To cloud the listening spirit like a veil. 
Or, like the leaping of a fountain well. 
To stir its depths to gladness, who may sing, 
In the strong music they should each command 1 
This, the hard tear from iron hearts to wring. 
And this to bind the broken like a band ; — 
This to upUft and startle with its power. 
This on our souls to weep, like dew upon the flower. 



15 



XXV. 

They hold unmeasur'd monarchy o'er Man — 
They rule him with a broad and tireless sway, 
Luring to doom he may not dream nor scan, 
By promptings that he dares not but obey ; — 
They whisper through the watches of the night, 
. Peopling his busy pillow with strange forms — 
They gild the present with a rainbow light. 
And wrap futurity in clouds and storms ; 
Companion still in solitude or crowd, 
With tongue that palsies not, they talk to us aloud ! 



XXVI. 

They rule us with a wand of mystery — 
Creation changes at their mighty ban — 
As at a word its magic features fly, 
And all its beautiful seems waste and wan ; 
The hues which Nature scatter'd faint and fade 
From the broad picture of her loveliness ; 
The very sunlight sickens into shade, 
Till all that joy'd us seems but to distress — 
And the o'ertortur'd vision yields no more 
From a sad world the deep enchantment that it wore 



16 



XXVII. 

They sway us in the deep of solitude, 
Till all that charm'd us in its solemn shade. 
The sabbath silence, and the bending wood, 
Seem mid the marvel of their power to fade. 
And scenes enchanting still to other eyes, 
Are stretch'd before us as the dullest sea. 
Where nothing starts the spirit to surprise, 
But sameness wears it to intensity — 
Until the eye, grown senseless to the earth, 
Sees midnight shroud the matchless tints that crown'd its birth ! 



XXVIII. 

They sway us mid the crush and wild uproar 
Of cities in their deep tempestuous tide. 
And strait a shadow like a dream comes o'er 
That panorama in its hour of pride ; 
The ocean noise that rends the capital, 
Falls all unheeded on the insensate ear. 
And silence settles downward like a pall 
On the wide thunder that a world should hear I- 
No lights to gladden, and no eyes to bless. 
And the o'erteeming mart is but a wilderness. 



17 



XXIX. 

Such is that sterner monarchy than Man 
Ere claim'd above his kindred. — Upon them, 
Since first the necromance of Power began, 
It came with sceptre and with diadem — 
The tyranny of Earth is pomp and pride. 
Crushing- the body, while the chainless mind, 
To things of nobler heritage allied, 
Casting the manacles of dust behind. 
Soars to a boundless atmosphere away, 
Leaving the baser fate and bondage of its clay I 



XXX. 

Such is that magic madness of the brain 
That lures us from our nature — till we seem. 
Hugging the links we strive to break in vain. 
To catch, as through the glimpses of a dream. 
The story of the past — and faithless turn 
A dull ear to the record of that time, 
When incense up from holy shrines did burn, 
An offering in simplicity sublime, 
As tho' it were a visionary tale, 
The worship of pure hearts, ere souls were sunk in bale ! 
3 



18 



XXXI. 

As from the " painted ship " the sullen sea 
Allures its witless victim to the leap, 
Waving like green savanna broad and free, 
Until he flashes down the parted deep, 
So o'er the Dead Sea of this painted life 
Passes a change that cheats him of its hues, 
Until, diseas'd by torture and by strife, 
Harass'd by niem'ries that he cannot lose, 
Man from his mind's propriety goes down, 
Till, into chaos pluug'd, the mockery is flown ! 



XXXII. 

And now o'er peopled lands, with curious gaze, 
Let the untravell'd spirit forth to see, 
And listen to the Drama of oar days, 
Since Passion claim'd her mightier monarchy. 
How varied is the scene — how full the stage ! 
With hurried act, and meanless pantomime — 
Players in mask, from infancy to age. 
With parts well conn'd in innocence or crime — 
Alternate victims to the joys or woes. 
That each a mastery claim'd, when life's broad curtain rose ! 



19 



XXXIII. 

See where yon shape, to darkhng dreams a slave, 
Moves with a gather'd brow and tragic tread, 
While dank funereal draperies round him wave, 
As round some herald from the solemn dead ! 
How with a buskin'd pomp his train he bears, 
With palsied majesty, and forehead pale ! 
As though the victim of old carking cares — 
Whose only lot were hopeless, save to wail, 
And trample on through shadow and through storm, 
That gather round his path, and pelt his weary form ! 



XXXIV. 

Another at his side, whose joyous mien 
Gives mockery to grief, and scorn to tears, 
With wit still leaping round his path, is seen, 
Stranger alike to fantasies and fears ; 
Mark how with comic carelessness he goes, 
Through every shifting scene that marks the play, 
With heart whose gaiety knows no repose, 
Nor thinks of other future than to-day — 
Too buoyant for that dull endiingeon'd air. 
Crushing the moody spirit downward to despair ! 



20 



XXXV. 

Strange Destinies of Earth ! as in a glass, 
Each to the other hnk'd, in dim array, 
With all your marvels have I seen ye pass 
Along your glad or melancholy way ; 
I've heard your legends, as I musing sate 
In my rude attic 'neath the pallid stars, 
List'ning the night out to some tale of Fate, 
Till morning broke upon my lattice bars. 
And with intruding eye the glary day 
Warn'd back the mustering dreams I had no charm to stay I 



XXXVI. 



And I would tell the tale. — The varied voice 
In which it fell upon my tranced ear. 
Calling my leaping spirit to rejoice. 
Or yield the unconscious tribute of a tear, 
Comes on my lifting memory with a power 
Of once enchanting music, when it breaks 
Anew in the dear cadence of that hour 
That woke its melody — and as it wakes, 
New tones of magic sound I seem to hear, 
And on my startled solitude new shapes appear ! 



h 



21 



XXXVII. 



\ 



I thought, as I look'd out upon the night, 
Studded with glories, from my soaring tower, 
A shadowy band was gathering on my sight, 
And a new beauty stole upon the hour. 
The city slumber'd 'neath me — and the roar 
Of its unnumber'd tongues was hush'd in sleep 
A silence brooded round unfelt before, 
With lustre crown'd, and eloquently deep ! — 
A vision was upon me — and the train 
Of the dim Passion spirits cross'd my busy brain. 



XXXVIII. 

I listened — and each Genius of the throng, 
Fill'd with his feeling of divinity, 
Rehears'd some story in a wildering song, 
While inspiration started from his eye — 
Some story of his power on martyr man. 
To lure his heart to suffering or delight ; 
With varied cadence through the tale he ran - 
Recital of his mystery or might, 
Since first he drew commission from the sky. 
The fated child of Destiny to tempt and try. 



22 



XXXIX. 

Love's legend was of sad and wandering strain - 
Of mingled thoughtfulness and joy untold — 
A heaven of happiness — a hell of pain — ■ 
With hopes too mighty for the heart to hold ! — 
Of two, who in their Youth's unclouded morn 
Gaz'd each enraptur'd upon wondrous eyes, 
As on deep fountains — till delights were born, 
As yet undreamt of, and a new surprise 
Came with each deep pulsation as it rose. 
Distinct as music o'er the bosom's lost repose ! 



XL. 



Both were devoted. She was beautiful — 
And the rich blood that cours'd her cheek and brow, 
Each radiant as the flower she stoop'd to cull, 
Mantled, as she gave back the whisper'd vow. 
With a new glory. She had found a home ! 
An altar-place, where, dedicate, she bowd' 
In virgin loveliness — no pictur'd dome. 
No palace, with its pillow deck'd and proud. 
Could promise the chaste slumber of that breast. 
Where her young head was laid, in confidence and rest. 



23 



XLI. 

He lov'd her with a perfect love. His eye 
Grew histreless, yet restless, when she went, 
And when she came, in beauty's panoply, 
And blest him with her presence ; it was bent 
With that deep light upon her, which alone, 
•And but for once, will kindle at the shrine 
Of Passion, that no other hope will own, 
Save this which makes its worship just divine ! 
She was his idol — and his service there 
Was new devotedness — and promises — and prayer ! 



XLH. 

But what are all the flatteries of Life ! 
Possession crown'd their love — a love too pure 
To tread unscath'd the world of storm and strife, 
Where happiness is chance, and trial sure, — 
Yet theirs was joy the best that brightens earth — 
Youth, beauty, virtue, all immaculate. 
Flowers breaking roimd them in perpetual birth, 
And hope that seem'd beyond the reach of fate : 
It was a dream — and, blasted at a breath. 
The blossoms in their fulness fell — and all was Death ! 



24 



XLIII. 

They faded in their morning. He was left 
To gaze upon her damp and marble brow, 
A creature of all thought save heaven bereft, 
And there fast journeying to meet her now : 
He lifted the green turf — he scoop'd her grave, 
And rav'd in silence round it till his eyes 
Grew to the sod — blind — blind to all things, save 
The opening Future and its Paradise — 
Where Faith beheld her with the sainted choir, 
Sweeping in deathless harmony her golden lyre ! 



XLIV. 

He wander 'd o'er the earth, a pilgrim man — 
With reason paralyz'd, and heart in tears — 
Reckless of life and time — with forehead wan, 
And stamp'd as with the signet of long years. 
At length upon her grave he found his rest — 
Again the light return'd — again he wept — 
And there, at the dim monarch's stern behest, 
As from his shudd'ring brain the madness swept, 
Amid sweet memories he pass'd away. 
To the bright upward pilgrimage and fadeless day ! 



25 



XLV. 

Such was the tale of liOve. And as it fell 
From his impassion'd lips, they seem'd to close 
And quiver as in sympathy — so well 
That wayward power responded to the woes 
It was his destiny on happy hearts 
■ To marshall to their service. Such the tale, 
Though often told, at which the sternest starts, 
Tho' brac'd in apathy's unyielding mail — 
It is not that we die — that comes to all — 
But the cold gloom mid which we're gather'd to the pall. 



XLVI. 

He told of other hearts — a mother's love ! 
Changeless, and stronger than the grasp of Death — 
A passion holy as its home above, 
And mingling with each hush'd and anxious breath - 
A mother's love ! to nought on earth allied, 
To draw its wondrous fervor from its fount — 
Still holier and deeper as 'tis tried — 
On wings that never weary, taught to mount ; 
Of that repressless power, earth's hate and scorn, 
But lift to loftier tone, when other hopes are gone ! 
4 



26 



XLVII. 

A mother's love ! that through the heaving deep, 
The ocean of existence, unconfiii'd, 
Its flowing on and upward still will keep — 
That unsubdued expansion of the mind ! — 
Like Arethusa's fabled fount of old. 
That through the cavern'd earth and ocean sea 
Led up its waters, still as clear and cold. 
And as unmingled in their purity, 
As when they started from their deep repose, 
And from the unfathom'd chaos of the waves arose I 



XLVIIL 

Then Hate a history unveil'd. He told 
Of two whose hearts grew callous with their years, 
Touch'd by that madd'ning malady of gold. 
That while it desecrates, the spirit sears ; 
And they were brothers — but the murky cloud 
That veil'd each heart, like gloom of Erebus, 
Hung o'er their prayerless household as a shroud. 
Blighting their sad existence like a curse, 
Till, scorning mercy, they were left to die, 
With malediction's curling lip, and flashing eye ! 



27 



XLIX. 

And Persecution, with its sword and brand, 
He pictured in his story — fiend of wrath. 
That with a festering heart and bigot hand 
Swept through an empire on its bloody path, 
Mask'd as ReUgion — with fanatic voice, 
It summon'd armies in its deadly wake, 
' Neath Inquisition's banners did rejoice, • 
And strode exulting round the pile and stake- 
Changing God's temple to a very tomb, 
And worship for a jubilee of grief and gloom. 



I ponder'd as I listen'd to the tale 
Of Hatred and of Vengeance, till I thought, 
Beneath their ban how many brows grew pale, 
That, but for them, the fight of Faith well fought, 
Had brighten'd as they pass'd into the sky ! 
How many brother's hands, alas ! were stain'd 
With the dim plague-spots of malignity, 
That, as their stifled sympathies had wan'd, 
Grew darker and yet deeper, till they spread 
Over the whole, like black corruption o'er the dead. 



2B 



LI. 



Joy next took up the strain. How sweet the song ! 
' Twas like a trancing harmony on ears 
Tortur'd by Discord's tale of crime and wrong. 
His was no history of frowns and fears — 
His presence fill'd the spirit of a child, 
Lighting to lovelier lustre as he grew ! 
His days swept on all musically wild, 
Scattering around new beauties as they flew — 
Delight leapt ever round his path, and flung 
Fresh flowers about the way where Wit and Laughter rung. 



LH. 



He made his home with cheerfulness. His hearth, 
When Winter clos'd the door, and heap'd the fire, 
Sounded till midnight with the note of mirth, 
Touch'd by the son, and echoed by the sire. 
And when green Summer with its bloom was out, 
He trode with music mid the bending corn, 
Greeting brown exercise with song and shout, 
And panting up the hills with light of morn, 
Far from the city with its sickly shade, 
Link'd hand in hand with Health, that bright enchanting maid ! 



29 



LIII. 



His days pass'd goldenly. Above — around, 
That voice of soi)g in ceaseless tone was heard 
In one unrivall'd melody of sound, 
And gushing as the note of some wild bird — 
With buoyant step from cottage to the hall, 
To greet bright brows he went, and beaming eyes, 
Casting the magic of his mien on all — 
Banding all Life's delights, and scattering sighs — 
Still pointing through Time's trial on to Heaven, 
Where the bow'd heart should land, that earth had wrung and 
riven. 



LIV. 



Next Melancholy, veil'd in cloak and weeds, 
Murmur'd his sullen story. ' Twas of one. 
Who mid the cloister's shade and pattering beads. 
His course of mad misanthropy begun ; 
The sunlight or the shadow of the world 
Brooded alike on him — he saw no hope 
In all its day or darkness had unfurl'd, 
And the black future was a starless cope — 
He woke to penance still — and when he slept. 
Dark dreams his pillow throng'd — and Fear about him crept. 



30 



LV. 



He pass'd into the desert from his cell, 
Hating the face of Man, and pale with scorn — 
Spurning the iron bed and matin bell, 
That rack'd his slumbers and aAvoke his morn, 
Crush'd as those tortur'd spirits that went out 
From towering capitals, whose gates of old 
Open'd on deserts, where the ocean shout 
Of the throng'd city far and faintly roU'd, 
And as they clos'd, a solitude was round 
The exile, as if driven to earth's unpeopled bound ! 



LVI. 

There by his fountain well and rocky cave, 
With Nature for communion, he abode. 
Hoping no other future but the grave. 
Where thought should cease to try, or ills corrode ; 
Prayer gave him no repose, for the dire God 
He worshipp'd sat in vengeance in the sky. 
Making life chaos at his monarch nod. 
And man a victim for eternity — 
In misery's abode, where praise was dumb, 
And white-rob'd Mercy through its night could never come ! 



31 



LVII. 

Religion found no temple in his heart — 
But all its dull and dark idolatry 
Was of that sullen nature but a part, 
Which led him from earth's fellowship to fly : 
Like him of old, who on the pillar's height 
Counted his years of loneliness and gloom, 
And found, as earth grew shadowy on his sight, 
His cloudy column but a living tomb ! — 
So his deserted soul, malignant still, 
Rear'd round the Hydra heads he could not crush nor kill. 



Lvni. 

What hopes had such a spirit ? — it had pass'd 
Beyond the boundary of human things. 
But through the gloom itself had round it cast, 
It flitted like a bird on palsied wings. 
He leagu'd him with Despair — and forth he trod, 
With steps whose path he reck'd not — writhing yet 
Beneath the ceaseless and afiiictive goad 
Of hopes he could not, though he would, forget — 
Till with a shriek, he leapt the maddening leap — 
Into the black Hereafter's spectre-compass'd deep. 



32 



LIX. 

Alas ! how desolating that eclipse 
That shadows the broad empire of the mind — 
How drear the apathy that seals the lips 
In pallid scorn. That to the hollow wind 
Gives only ear, and revels in the night 
Of Nature's solitude. How dark the crime, 
Insulting thus the Mercy that would light 
Our spirits onward through the storms of Time, 
And yielding to foul Passion all that Heaven 
Of mental mastery to pilgrim Man has given ! 



LX. 

While yet this weary story on my ear 
Fell with its mournful music, a new strain 
Rose blithely on those dirge-like sounds of fear. 
As though bright Joy took up the song again. 
They came on accents from an angel tongue, 
Full of persuasive harmony to bear 
The soul by sorrow and temptation wrung, 
To loftier limits yet unknown to care — 
And as I listen'd, I could feel the veil 
UpUfting, that had lower'd at Melancholy's tale. 



LXT. 

They told of One, who, from her morning time, 
Mov'd through Life's mazes to " dehghted measure " 
With brow too radiant for a mortal clime, 
And lip still eloquent with " promised pleasure ; " 
She made her holiest home with Youth and Love — 
Peopling their future with her whisper'd dreams. 
And pouring on them, as from realms above, 
New joys and extacies in golden gleams — 
Dashing each brilliant vision that she drew 
With lines of beautiful repose and wondrous hue ! 



LXIL 

She walk'd with those whom solitude had bow'd ; 
She sat beside the weary of this world, 
Yet found her thronging votaries in the crowd, 
And worship from the lips that Pride had curl'd ; 
Her presence was a magic upon all — 
The cottage threshold by her radiant train 
Was swept more oft than the imperial hall — 
Rustic and royalty confess'dher reign. 
And ever, as she pass'd, the light she left 
Warm'd with an equal ray the joyous and bereft. 
5 



34 



LXIII. 

With changeless Ijove she stood at Beauty's side, 
Wlien at the aUar throiig-h her veihno^ hair 
She breath'd the deep devotion of a bride. 
And felt no human vow too much to dare ! 
In promise and companionship she went, 
Lighting the twain along their path of bloom — 
On an unclouded vista still intent, 
And charming from Futurity its gloom; 
She woke to melody their ringing bowers, 
And added, as they flew, soft plumage to the hours. 



LXIV. 

She sat beside the restless couch of Pain — 
Minister'd with white hand to pale disease, 
Till suffering's self grew confident again, 
And smiles came round the pillow. The dull lees 
Of life by her sprung forth to sparkling streams. 
That onward bounded in career of light. 
Reflecting from their tide uncounted dreams, 
As stars from waters at the noon of night — 
Her voice was music — and her dimless eye. 
Guiding the gaze of worshippers, still look'd on high. 



35 



LXV. 

Then in the chamber of oppressive Death, 
Where friends went to and fro with faces bent, 
And drew the stifling air with guarded breath, 
Her's was a service with new glory blent. 
With kindling beauty did she minister 
To the departing spirit — till it seem'd 
As though her requiem voice rose on its ear, 
As from the angel home ot which it dream'd ! 
The eye caught glory, and the paling lips 
Parted in murmur'd prayer amid the last eclipse. 



LXVI. 

Thus, as the echo of each spirit's tale 
Died on my thrilling ear, I thought how strange 
The fate of man since forth from Eden's vale 
He mov'd with broad creation for his range. 
How strange his lot ! — how deep the mystery ! 
Years of relentless trial for his doom. 
With that unchanging sentence — thou shalt die ! 
Ringing from Life's bright portal to the tomb : 
Yet, proud as if this place of Dust should be 
The arena of his battling for Eternity ! — 



3(5 



LXVII. 

Child of mysterious birth ! — enigma man ! 
Of Power incomprehensible. — yet chain'd 
By adamantine bond beneath that ban 
That holds all Power but weakness — ah ! how wan'd. 
Art thou from thy first glory — when thy brow 
Was lighted by Divinity, and rose, 
Unshadow'd by the clouds that veil it now, 
From Nature's pillow, and its first repose — 
Creature of daring hope — still bold and loud — 
The' born of yesterday, and fleeting like a cloud ! 



LXVIII. 

How yields the musing spirit to a smile, 
To hear thy boast and read thy fantasies — 
More mounting yet than Pelion's fabled pile. 
More boundless than this canopy of skies ! 
Ah ! could thy faith in Life's poor vanity 
But cope with thy Ambition — could thy mind 
But dare the nobler thing ' twas born to be. 
And track its mighty pathway unconfin'd, 
How would the lesser lights of Earth decay, 
Before the undying lustres of thy upward way ! 



37 



LXIX. 

But, cease my wandering harp — perchance the hand 
That sweeps with varied strain thy humble string, 
Has woke but weary music — and the band 
Whose simple legends IVe essay'd to sing, 
May all disown the song. Alas ! for me, 
A joyless destiny indeed were mine 
To meet the Passions' mingled obloquy, 
Link'd with this drowsy service of the Nine ! — 
But the sad story's told — the hapless wire 
Would not add Sorrow to the heart 'twas doom'd to tire ! 



LXX. 

And now, farewell ! — ye whom the sea of Life, 
With flickering sunlight, and the rattling rain, 
Repose and tempest, in perpetual strife. 
Has borne like barks for sickening years — how vain 
To you this wasting contest of the heart 
With the mysterious powers that round it throng, 
Did Faith not point it to a nobler part 
Within the veil — the angel home of song ! 
Which, in unharass'd worship, it shall bear, 
Crown'd with that radiant love that dawn'd on Eden's pair ! 



38 



LXXI. 

Hope and Immortal Life ! how bright they break 
On the upUfting vista of our days ! — 
How like a clarion voice they swell and wake 
Our palsying nature from its deep amaze ! 
O ask not what to-morrow to the soul 
May bear of honor or of joy — but on 
To the unfolding gates — the golden goal — 
Lifts the exulting vision — and 'tis won ! 
That better land, where weariness no more 
Shall weigh upon the Spirit's pinions as they soar ! 



Lxxn. 

Why do we cluster here, 

And gaze into each other's eyes — 
Not with the gather'd glance of quick surprise, 

Nor yet in sorrow veil'd and still, 
But with a sadness that commands no tear. 

While grief and gloom the Spirit fill? 
No tear — but yet the sounding heart 

Tells of a memory there. 
In the quick flash and fever'd start. 



:\9 



Stern as the presence of Despair ! 
A light has pass'd away 
To its high merger in transcendent day, 

O'er which we grieve, 
As ever o'er great spirits that command, 
When for the better, starry land, 

They radiant leave ! 
It lives along the sky. 
Beyond the path where planets fly. 

With God's undying band. 
In beautiful and noble ministry ! 
And shall we call a pure one from that sphere 
Or stay the pinion opening for those skies ? 

Would we resummon here 
One entered on immortal sympathies, 
And treading courts where only angels rise ? 

Ah I no — amid the trumps and lyres 
That rock the deathless melody around, 

Leave we one worthy of that loftier land — 
Touch'd with unearthly fires. 
He walks its paths to finer sound 
Than aught call'd music from a mortal wand ! 
He broke upon a wondering world, 
Ideal conqueror of his time — 
And onward, as with banner-cloth unfurl'd, 
He flash'd from clime to clime. 



40 



The sceptre and the throne, 
Like those in vision oft beyond the sky, 
Were fill'd and bright with immortahty, 
And power nnrivalFd — and his own. 
He sat, of Intellect the king — 
And tribute at his feet, 
Did, hke a dedicated thing. 
About him meet. 



LXXIII. 

He lifted from the mind 
That shadowy veil of years, 
Which closes round mankind. 
Upon this path of tears ! 
That mystery of Spirit, that like Mail, 
Within its bars, 
Keeps life untouch'd, but yet untold its tale, 

Save to the beings pure and pale, 
That roam amid the glory of the stars ! 

He bow'd him to the service of the soul, 
And with a hope like reverence beheld, 
As he who sees new spheres about him roll, 
Wonders on wonders form and rise, 



41 



Which men had gaz'd on with unquestioning surprise, 
Before such dim Philosophy the world had spell'd. 

He bent before that shrine, 
Where only mystery has waited man, 
Since its informing spirit first began 
Its upward reach and march divine. 
• He bent there as in deep companionship, 
To catch some intimation of that power 
That mark'd our untouch'd Parents in their bower. 
Ere with unchasten'd eye, or lawless lip. 

They look'd and tasted ! — joyless hour ! 
When change on both fell darkling for all time — 
Blinded with tears — and crush'd with crime ! 
And what now to each wakening land, 
With mien and utterance of command. 
As though into the deep 
Of the immortal part he had gone down, 
That vasty steep ! 
What brings he from that realm, victorious and alone ! 
New visions of this Angel Mind ! — 
New truth ! — in robe and crown ! 
That shall the triumph of a promise find, 
And the mock'd spirit bind. 
When other hopes have flo\vn ! 
He came up as the Conqueror 
Of some devoted shore, 
6 



42 



That Man as Man might struggle for, 
To give the chme to light and law, 
Where midnight frown'd before ! 



LXXIV. 

And now from hearth and home. 

Forth on the weltering sea. 
With tireless step behold him roam, 
The Patriot Pilgrim of a new Philosophy ! 

With enchanting voice he came 
Here, where the forest mount and shore, 
Once to the dashing surf hung o'er, 

Ere Freedom had a name ! 
But now where sounding cities pour 
The music of their ocean roar. 

On their loud way to Fame ! 
He pour'd as from the sky, 
New radiance round the immortal image here. 
Until a new divinity 
Did on its brow appear. 
And a new lustre flash'd along its eye ! 

To him, in Man, was given 
To see the royalty and front of Heaven — 
He saw that Death was but a nobler Birth — 



43 



The better Destiny of Earth ! 
The change that goes 
Over that front — cold — deep — and still — 
The signet of the Eternal Will, 
Borne on that last repose ! 

Here, as of spirit's power he spoke 

Oft to a listening land, 
Beneath the magic of his hand 
New wonder woke, 
And following his footsteps, as to sound 
Of music did a world come round, 
To greet with harmony of praise. 
One fashion'd thus to master and amaze ! 



LXXV. 

Clos'd was the Pilgrim's task — and full his years • 

And round, in cloudy gaze, 

Gather'd that world in tears. 
As erst men gather'd round the bold and high — 
Great captains of the soul's first Liberty, 
When they pass'd to the sky ! 



44 



And now, on that tomb-pillar'd Mount, 
Amidst its flower-encompass'd dead 
How beautiful he sleeps — with garlands o'er his head, 
Beside the murmuring of the hidden fount ! 
How beautiful his sleep ! — 
How lone I — how deep ! 
Mid that unceasing harmony of great trees — 
While on the ocean breeze 
The far faint voices of the city steal, 
And sullen requiem bell, with broken peal ! — 
How beautiful his sleep ! 
With Mem'ry thus to keep 
Her quiet watch, like sentinel, around 
The consecrated mount of bloom — the hallow'd ground ! 






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